


An Imperfect Fit

by She_Without_Rain



Series: We’re Screwed Up People in a Screwed Up World (But You’re Perfect) [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Because of course he does, Bucky and all associated warnings, Clint is a lil’ shit, I know the title’s shit, I seriously don’t know how to tag, Jarvis lives, M/M, Tony Has a Metal Arm Kink, but a good guy really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 00:31:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/She_Without_Rain/pseuds/She_Without_Rain
Summary: “Can I kiss you?”Tony jolts, like he’s actually been shocked and Bucky backtracks.****In which Bucky is awkward and fumbling and wants so badly but there’s stuff to work through first.It’s my first fanfic, I have no idea what I’m doing.





	An Imperfect Fit

**Author's Note:**

> *dips toe into the fandom*  
> *dodges flying fruit*
> 
> Bucky/Tony is my kryptonite. I love it. I read it. And now I’m writing it.
> 
> I’ve only done a brief edit. I’ll come back to it when I have the time. Hopefully it doesn’t suck too hard.  
> (This was supposed to be a short 3k. IT GREW.)
> 
> EDIT: Look! It has paragraph spaces now! Aka Still figuring out Archive formatting.

‘James Buchanan Barnes.’ That’s who he is. That’s who they _say_ he is. Sergeant. Best friend to Captain America. (The Mission. The enemy. _Steve_.)

Sometimes he remembers, if he focuses. Flashes from nowhere. A scrawny kid from Brooklyn who always took on problems three times his size and never knew when to quit. The smell of apple pie and a woman calling him, her voice rising and falling in a lilt that was as familiar as his own, — “ _Buc-ky!_ ”. There’s the army, the serum, the Commandos, and then things disintegrate into a confusing mess of hate and loyalty and bitterness and blaming and pride and hate, and Bucky has to hit the gym for hours to work through it all and Steve looks at him with _pity_ , and the others look at him with suspicion, because no matter what people said, no matter if he lived in the Tower, he will always be the Winter Soldier.

Which is why, when he finally asks Stark to take a look at his arm (it’s sticking and hurting more than usual), Stark repulse-blasts him through the wall.

By the time Steve arrives, Stark has already high-tailed it back to his workshop, and Bucky is cursing himself six kinds of stupid because he’s killed the man’s _parents_ — almost killed the man himself at one point. He may have been pardoned, he may have been given space to live in Stark’s home, but there are _limits_.

So he talks Steve down, calls it a misunderstanding, and returns to his room ( _floor_ ).

He’s trying to force back the cold sweats the pain is bringing when his door opens two hours later and Stark strolls in.

(Even through the pain, Bucky sees the restlessness in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the sparodic tapping on his watch.)

“Show me,” he orders brusquely, and Bucky lifts his arm without a word. Stark is there, humming and muttering to himself, running his fingers all over the metal as he inspects it, pulling tools from who knows where, rambling aloud to JARVIS (and once Bucky had gotten over the fact that the walls could talk, he finds JARVIS comforting, in some way, knowing that he’s being constantly monitored, just like before. (No, wrong thought.)).

“I’m sorry,” Bucky offers quietly.

“Shut up.”

Bucky takes the hint.

Not even a minute later, Stark speaks. “Why me?”

“Because you are the most suitable to provide maintenance to The Asset.” The words are out of his mouth before Bucky can register they’re wrong (wrong words, wrong him, he’s not supposed to talk like that anymore) and Stark stills. Bucky finds himself looking into dark eyes, eyes that go impossibly deep, and sees something like understanding.

“Huh.”

Then Stark is back at it, and ten minutes later, Bucky’s arm is no longer straining, and Stark is leaving as abruptly as he’d arrived.

*****

It’s 2 am when he next sees him. Bucky can’t sleep, mind restless with cold dreams and red memories and phantom orders. He’s in the kitchen, staring blankly at his glass of water, when Stark stumbles in, making a beeline for the coffee machine. He’s halfway through making a cup, mumbling to himself, when he sees Bucky and freezes.

Bucky watches from under the hair that’s fallen into his face.

“Hey Frosty, didn’t see you there,” Stark rambles, flexing his hand almost unconsciously. “You should probably come with a bell. Or two. Or you know, say hi, or just stop haunting my kitchen — why are you haunting my kitchen?”

Bucky doesn’t answer.

“Ah.” Stark drums his fingers on the worktop. “How’s the arm?”

“Fine,” Bucky rasps. Stark blinks.

“Okay.” He swipes his mug with one hand and raises it in a dramatic salute as he saunters to the door. “Well, good talk. I’ve got inventions to invent — Clint bet me that I couldn’t, well, it doesn’t matter, but I’m gonna win, and getting one over him is always fun, so, genius stuff to do.”

“You have grease in your hair,” Bucky tells him.

Stark makes an odd noise. “Okay. Sure thing. See ya, buddy.”

Then he’s gone, and the kitchen seems smaller without him.

It’s only later, when Bucky hears the others stirring and retreats back to his rooms that he realises he’d been speaking Russian.

*****

Bucky’s at the gym. Steve is being too... _Steve_ , and Bucky’s not sure if he can take any more of the _eyes. I know you, Bucky. Remember that time, Bucky? You’re my best mate, Bucky. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky._

Natasha is sparring with Barton on the mats, and Bucky knows they’re both watching him even as she gets Barton in a headlock, still spitting banter back and forth, but Bucky doesn’t care, keeping his focus on the punching bag in front of him. Then Stark walks in.

“So Nat — oh hey, Clint, how’s it going? — Nat, I’ve upgraded your bites and they look sweet, even if I do say so myself, and I put a little extra shizazzle for you to play with because I’m awesome.”

“Fuck you,” Clint gasps.

“No thanks, Tweety, you’re not my type.”

“They don’t even look the same,” Natasha says with a raised brow, hefting the new weapons.

“Well yeah. I upgraded them.”

Clint snorts. “You know Tony,” he says, peeling himself off the mat. “No concept of restrain.”

“It’s called style,” Stark sniffs haughtily. “Not that anyone expects you to get that. Did that punching bag personally offend you?”

Stark changes lanes so fast Bucky is left with whiplash. It takes a moment of Stark looking at him pointedly to realise what he meant.

“Oh. Uh. No.”

“The way you’re going at it I figured it insulted your mother.”

Clint opens his mouth and Natasha whacks him on the back of his head.

“Speaking of, I haven’t given you one, have I? An upgrade, that is.”

“Uh.” Bucky looks at his arm. “I don’t need one.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, everybody needs an upgrade. Swing by sometime and I’ll give you one. Or actually, swing by now. Pepper has this thing she wants me to do and you can be my excuse not to do it. Come on.”

“I should shower,” Bucky blurts out after him. Stark pauses before shrugging.

“Eh, okay. Ten minutes?”

“Sure,” Bucky replies, not quite sure how it’s come to this.

Once Stark’s gone Natalia plants herself in front of him.

“We’re watching you,” she warns softly in Russian. Behind her Clint points at his own eyes and then at Bucky. Bucky nods, because what else can he do, and heads off to shower.

*****

Stark’s workshop is like him: the future, and cluttered. Holographic plans hover in midair, some 3D, others flat. Gadgets and parts cover the surfaces, and heavy metal blasts from speakers he can’t see.  
So different from the cold, clinical atmosphere he’d become accustomed to. In here is life.

Something inside him that had been tense the whole elevator ride down eases.

“Sergeant Barnes here to see you, Sir,” JARVIS intones, and for a moment, Bucky wonders who he’s talking about.

Stark waves vaguely from underneath what looks like a car frame, although Bucky knows better than to assume that’s all it is. “Take a seat. And JARVIS, turn that down.”

The music lowers as Bucky gingerly clears part of a bench, and sits. Stark is with him in a moment, a smear of grease on his neck, and shoves the rest of the clutter aside.

“So, Frosty, let’s have a look.”

Bucky puts his arm in the clear space.

“How’s it holding up? Perfect? It should be perfect, I fixed it. But what’s _this_?”

And then Stark is off before Bucky can answer, and Bucky just sits there, letting Stark’s words wash over him, and realises that he feels relaxed for the first time in months.

“So are we The Asset today, or Bucky-boy?” Stark suddenly says, cutting through his thoughts.

“I’m not sure.”

Stark _looks_ at him again, with eyes that see right down into him, and somehow, Bucky thinks he sees the same darkness in Stark.

“Okay,” Stark accepts, and gets right back to fiddling, stopping every so often to tweak at the plan he’s drawing up. “You going to go psycho on me?” He asks a bit later, and Bucky has to stifle a laugh.

“I don’t think so.”

“Good to know.” Stark sounds immensely satisfied. “So the thing in the kitchen...?” He lets the question trail off.

“Sometimes it hard to sleep. I get...confused,” and the admittance surprises Bucky with how hard it is and how easy it is at the same time.

“You can come down here, if you like. You know. On the bad days. I mostly just make things and break things and take things apart. And listen to music. Because I have great taste.”

Bucky’s not sure how to handle that, so he dodges. “Did you win your bet?”

“Of course.” Stark almost preens. “Clint’s had to give up his movie rights for the month.”

Bucky laughs again, and that’s twice in one day. He wonders why it’s so different with the guy who’s parents he’d killed, than it is with his long-lost best friend.

“Right. So I’m going to draw up some plans, make some prototypes, and then we’ll review and you can tell me how awesome I am.”

“Sure thing, doll.” Bucky didn’t mean to say that out loud — didn’t mean to say it at all, especially not with that sort of drawl — but the grin on Stark’s face makes it him glad he did.

As Bucky leaves, he lets himself linger on the way Stark had pressed against him as he’d inspected his arm, and wonders what the hell he’s doing.

*****

And then comes the mission. An invasion of slime blobs, no HYDRA in sight, and Steve reckons its the _perfect_ way to start Bucky’s transition into the Avengers force.

“It’ll be good practice, Buck,” he’s saying, his eyes earnestly wide in that way that Bucky knows he’s going to end up agreeing to, because he just can’t say no to the pure conviction in them — never has. “It’s low stakes, routine; should be easy as pie.”

The others are milling about: Clint, Natasha, Banner, all keeping an eye on him. Two in Clint’s case. While very pointedly going through his arsenal. Bucky feels like rolling his eyes. He also feels like punching him in the face.

“What’s easy as pie?” Comes a metallic voice, distorted through the helmet. Iron Man enters.

“Steve wants Barnes to join us,” Clint says immediately, and Tony —because at some point he’s become Tony — flips the faceplate off.

“That is a bad idea. A very bad idea. I’d say almost monumentally bad —”

“Tony.” Steve cuts across Tony’s protests, and they’d hurt, Bucky can’t deny. But he keeps his face steady. “Bucky’s been cleared for action —”

“By who?” Tony bursts out. “Those SHIELD hacks? Come on, Cap. They couldn’t psychoanalyse a pigeon in a teapot.”

“Bucky comes with us,” Steve overrides. Tony’s face shuts down.

“Fine,” he responds coolly, faceplate flipping back down as a barrier between them, and Bucky can’t help but feel as if he’s let Tony down somehow.

“You ready, Buck?” Steve asks him softly, blue eyes warm. “It’ll be just like old times.”

No. It won’t. Because back then Bucky hadn’t been a trained weapon, brainwashed to complete the mission at all costs, taught how to take life indiscriminatly. Back then, Bucky had been human.

But he sucks it up, and tries to return the smile. He must do a decent job because Steve beams, and claps him on the shoulder, before turning to the others and giving the order to get going.

*****

The mission is a clusterfuck. The slime blobs are taken out without problems, but Bucky is a complete mess.

He ducks behind a partially destroyed building and clutches at his head, old orders warring with new mission parameters, until he has no idea which way is up anymore.

“You okay, bud?” The sudden appearance of Iron Man has Bucky swinging at him before he can blink.

“Woah there, Frosty.” Iron Man catches his first almost effortlessly. “Bucky? It’s me.”

The faceplate goes up and Bucky is looking into those eyes that know.  
“What are you thinking, bud? Talk to me.”

Bucky flexes his trapped metal fingers helplessly. “I don’t — I don’t —”

“What’s the mission?” Iron Man sound hesitant, but the question comes as a relief.

“To destroy the enemy.”

“And who’s the enemy?”

“Captain America.” No, that wasn’t right. “Steve,” Bucky tries again. No. “The...slime?”

“Snot,” Stark — _Tony_ — corrects. “Giant snot. Call it as it is, Buckaroo.”

Bucky feels his lips twitch. “Snot,” he repeats.

“So. Would you say they were good and destroyed?” Tony looks about at the scene in exaggerated curiosity.

Bucky huffs a laugh. “Yes.”

“So what’s next?”

“To report to a handler and await further orders.”

The lines about Tony’s face soften. “I’d say you’ve just about gone and done that, huh?”

Bucky has to swallow hard at the sudden lump in his throat. He tugs his hand free from the metal gauntlet, and Tony lets go.

“I’m tryin’,” he says hoarsely. “I really am.”

“We know you are, Buck. It’s okay.”

“Don’t.” Bucky has to work to stop his voice from cracking. “Don’t tell Steve.”

Tony pauses, before giving a rakish grin. “Tell Steve what?” Then he’s off, repulsers blasting as he soars.

“Bucky,” Bucky whispers to himself. “I’m Bucky.”

He wipes the sweat off his face, reties his hair, and steels himself to meet Steve.

*****

It’s quiet when he steps out of his room, everyone else asleep at this time of night. Bucky stealths his way through the Tower, feeling at home in the shadows he was taught to think of as his own. The lights are on in the workshop and Tony is there, switching between three screens at a time while toying with a holographic ball. Bucky hovers uncertainly, when Tony looks up, and waves him in.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d be disturbin’,” Bucky says as he enters. Tony waves him off.

“‘S fine. I told you to come visit, didn’t I?” He waves his hand at the screens he’s looking at vanish. “So what can I do for you at this late hour, Sergeant?”

Bucky shrugs, toying with a stray spanner on the bench beside him.  
“I don’...I can’ sleep.”

Tony snorts. “Cute accent you got there, Frosty Freeze.”

Bucky grimaces. “I can’ get rid of it. It’s from...before.”

“It’s good on you,” Tony says, rearranging the bench in front of him.

“Yeah?” Bucky can’t stop the lopsided smile.

“Yep. Very ladykiller. I hear you were, you know. A ladykiller. The great Bucky Barnes, killing all the ladies. Figuratively, not literally.”

“Hear you’re quite the player yourself.” Bucky leans back against the bench, grinning widely as Tony smirks back.

“You know it. Good with the boys too.”

“Huh,” Bucky says quietly, cataloguing how Tony stiffened as he said that. “I hear that’s a thing now, too. I mean, it always was back in the day, but now....”

Tony visibly shakes himself. “Yeah, well, adjustment period and all that. One of many thing to catch up on. Like Disney! We should do that. We did it to Rogers — it was great. He cried through almost all of them.”

“So I won’ have ta hide anymore?”

Tony visibly freezes. “Uh, what?” He blinks at Bucky with those big brown eyes that keep invading his dreams.

“About boys,” Bucky clarifies. “I won’ have ta hide them anymore?”

“No,” Tony croaks. “You don’t have to hide anymore. Uh. Does Steve know?”  
Bucky shrugs. “Maybe? We never really discussed it.”

“Oh.”

And Tony’s fiddling again, fingers tapping, flying over anything he can get his hands on.

“What is it?” Bucky prompts.

“In the field today,” Tony blurts, and Bucky hides his flinch. “Want to talk about it? Because we don’t have to. Look at me: I’m the master of not talking.”

“What happened?” Bucky’s question cuts across Tony’s rambling. Tony’s hand jumps up to his chest and taps a nervous rhythm.

“I was captured,” he says, tone stilted, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. “Tortured for a few months. The fun stuff, you know. Was kept alive on a battery so I could make a weapon. Fooled them, blew the base up to hell and back, and escaped. Became the Iron Man. Isn’t this in a file somewhere?”

“I didn’— they didn’ let me read all of ‘em. Just the main stuff.”

Tony tuts. “Should have come to me. I’ve got access to all there stuff right here.” He taps a few keys and then the SHIELD logo is being displayed in the air between them.

“So what do you wanna know, Bucky-boy?” Tony drawls. “The innermost secrets? Weapon plans? Names? Ooh, Fury’s files. That’s a fun one.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’ wanna know anything abou’ them.”

“Really? That’s a shame. So much blackmail opportunity here.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Tony jolts, like he’s actually been shocked, and Bucky backtracks.

“Sorry, that was stupid. I’ll just leave.” He backs out of the workshop. Tony’s still staring after him. “Sorry.”

Bucky turns on his heel and flees.

*****

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

His arms are burning but he keeps forcing the push-ups. When his human arm finally gives out, he switches to one-handed with his left, his shoulder screaming at him, but he ignores it. He can see his reflection in the mirror, the red star almost hypnotic as it rises and falls, rises and falls. His hair falls in front of his face, and his eyes are dark.

All he can see is the Winter Soldier.

*****

“What are you doing?” Tony asks when he walks in. Bucky peers up at him from his position on the shower floor, dressed only in sweats, the icy water cascading over him. Tony taps his fingers in a rhythm against the glass in his hand, and Bucky watches.

“I’m drunk,” Tony announces, apparently giving up on waiting for an answer. He squints at the glass in his hand and takes another swig “Really drunk. Which is why I’m here.” Bucky tracks his movements as he sits himself down on the seat of the toilet. “Because you see, the thing is, I wanted to say yes.”

Bucky blinks.

“And that’s just a little fucked up, even for me. You killed my mom.” He pauses, and Bucky sees the slight sheen to his eyes. “But it wasn’t you. Not really. Which is why I’ve been trying” — he uses the glass to point in Bucky’s direction — “like all that therapy Pep forces me into says, and yeah, I’m getting there. Maybe a-bit-more-than-a-stranger-but-not-quiet-friend. A close colleague?”

Tony shrugs. Has another drink. “But, my point.” He pins Bucky with eyes that don’t look drunk at all. “I wanted to say yes. The man who took the most important woman in the world away from me wanted to kiss me, and I wanted to say yes. So you can see how that shocked me.” Tony tries to take another drink but the glass is now empty. “Should have brought the bottle,” he mourns.

“I’m sorry.” The words are rasped, low, like they used to be.

“For what?” The words are a challenge.

“Your parents. Asking. Everything.”

There’s a long moment, and then Tony sighs.

“Get out of the shower, Barnes.”

 _Barnes. Barnes, Barnes, Barnes, Barnes_ —

“Bucky.” Tony’s eyes are warm. “Get out of the goddamn shower. I can feel the cold from here.”

Bucky obeys.

“Now what’s say you dry off and go to bed, and I’ll get back to my workshop, and we’ll figure this out tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Night, Polar Bear.” Tony throws a lazy salute.

“‘Night,” Bucky manages.

And then Tony’s gone, and Bucky feels like he can breathe again.

*****

They don’t kiss. They don’t touch. They don’t do much at all, really. But things have changed. Sometimes Bucky will catch Tony from the corner of his eye, and Tony will be looking at Bucky in a way that makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat. After missions — because those are a thing now, and Steve talks excitedly about how soon Bucky will be able to go on the big stuff with them, and Bucky just strains a smile and thinks about Tony’s workshop and DUM-E and U and Butterfingers — Tony always takes a minute to check up on him, no matter how battered he is. When Tony bumps into Bucky in the kitchen at night, he sits opposite him, coffee in hand, even tries out a few phrases in Russian. Mostly swears, and his accent is terrible, but it crooks Bucky’s mouth into a smile anyways. And Tony lets him wander around his workshop, his magical workshop that Bucky could get lost in for hours, playing fetch with the bots, or researching modern life with the help of JARVIS, or just watching Tony as he builds and makes and creates, and Bucky can only stand in awe at the way the man glows with creative energy.

And then one day Tony dumps his latest project on the bench nearest to Bucky, startling him from his latest research spiral.

“Done,” Tony declares, looking pleased in his tank top and sweats — Bucky loves that tank top, loves to watch the play of muscles as Tony works —, and suddenly Bucky can’t breathe as he looks at the sleek, polished arm in front of him.

“I didn’t bother with the star,” Tony says airily. “Think we all know you’re past that now.” There’s something to the way he says that that makes Bucky look up and meet those honey-brown eyes that see so much of him.

His mouth dries up, and his head goes blank. His tongue darts out to wet suddenly dry lips.

“Th-thanks,” he croaks.

Tony shrugs, like it’s easy, like it’s nothing. “No problem.”

Bucky wants to scream. He wants to grab the man in front of him and kiss him till he can’t breathe, and then kiss him some more. He wants to lock himself in his room and not come out ever again. He wants to run, away from Steve, away from the Tower, away from Tony.

A nudge brings him back and Tony’s looking down at him, frowning.

“What, is it not good enough? I can start again if you like, change the design. I stuck pretty close to your current arm aesthetically, but if you want it different — we can add colour —”

“No! No, it’s fine. Perfect. Thank you.” Bucky squeezes his hands together underneath the workbench, almost to the point of pain, and tries to smile. “Thank you,” he repeats.

“You don’t like it.” The words are flat, as flat as Tony’s gaze.

“No, it’s perfect, I love it.”

Tony’s already turning away. “It’s fine. I’ll make you another one. How do you want it?”

“No — Tony — NO!” His shout echoes around the workshop, and Tony stills, like he’s trying not to flinch. The bots stop what they’re doing and pay attention. Bucky’s breathing hard, and he takes his hands through his hair, pulling hard, letting the pain anchor him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “I didn’t mean to shout.”  
Tony shrugs, leaning back against a bench opposite him in the picture of nonchalance, but Bucky can see his fingers tap-tap-tapping next to a wrench lying on the surface.

“Why?” The question bursts out, even as he tries to stop it. It lingers in the air.

“I told you, I was giving you an upgrade.” Tony’s words are casual. Guarded.

“But that was....” Not what this was about.

Bucky stares at the arm, following the sleek design, the neat plates as they curve almost sensually. He finds himself tracing the flow with his finger, the metal cold against his skin.

“It’s lighter than your current one.” Tony’s come closer again, and he leans over the bench to pick up the arm. “The response time should be better. No lag. I’ve designed the connection points to be neater and cause less strain on your shoulder. You’ll also be able to sense things like temperature and texture, pretty much the same as if it were a real hand. I redesigned the frame so that it’s sturdier and can stand up to the battering you give it — I’ve seen how you treat it in battle sometimes — but obviously it’ll still need maintenance which I can provide if you want me to.”

Bucky watches the way Tony caresses the arm — there’s really no other word for it — even as his mouth moves.

“I’m not worth this. Fuck’s sake, Tony, I’m not even human. I’m so screwed in the head I can’t figure out which day it is sometimes. Dunno if I’m the Soldat or Bucky, and sometimes I don’t think I’m either. You don’t deserve this.” He swallows. This is what it’s about. “You deserve something better.”

There’s silence, broken only by the whirring of the bots.

“I had better.” Bucky’s never heard Tony speak so quietly. He watches him as Tony comes to sit beside him, resting the arm on the bench. “I had a girlfriend, once. Well, fiancé. We got engaged and.... She was amazing — is amazing. She was perfect, beautiful, patient, put up with my crap, was always there when I needed her, and I still screwed it up.”

Tony looks him in the eye and Bucky can see the darkness Tony keeps hidden deep down, mingled with sadness and self-depreciation. “I wanted to marry her. Really, really did. She was my everything. But. She was this unattainable angel, and I....” Tony swallows. “I was broken. Still am broken. I’m not good at relationships.” He says the word like it’s ‘tea’. “I’m clingy and forgetful, and I work too much, and I don’t show my appreciation enough, and I have poor self-preservation and manage to make the people I care about sick with worry, and I’m highly sarcastic at the best of times, have no sense of levity, ruin all the important moments with jokes, and I have lots of issues to deal with, and some days I can’t stand the sound of water or dark spaces —”

“You’re _perfect_ ,” Bucky says.

The silence hangs for a moment, as though Tony’s lost for words — and wasn’t that something new — before he rallies himself with a scoff.

“I’m a far cry from perfect. You’ll be running screaming for the hills, soon enough, or I’ll have failed myself.” Bucky gives a small laugh.

“I wake up sometimes and wonder why I’m warm,” he admits.

“We’re both screwed up people in a screwed up world.”

“Can I kiss you?” The words are out of Bucky’s mouth before he can stop them, and he cringes, wishing he could stuff them back down his throat.

Tony blinks for a moment and then let’s go of the arm back on the table and smiles. “Sure.”

Bucky’s gaze flicks to Tony’s mouth, suddenly transfixed. Thin lips, framed by the nearly cut goatee, and Bucky can almost feel the press of them against his own, can feel the scrape of the goatee on his face, and his lips tingle and his lungs freeze.

“Well?” Tony quirks a brow at him.

“I’m scared.” The admission bursts out without his say-so.

A half smile tugs at Tony’s lips. “Me too, Polar Bear.”

Bucky licks his lips and leans closer. Tony waits, face angled up to meet him. Bucky clenches his hand where it rests on the worktop. He’s staring at Tony’s mouth, desperate to taste it, but unable to move.

“Polar Bear?” Tony murmurs. Bucky makes a choked sound in his throat. “You okay?”

“No. Yes.”

“Changed your mind?”

Bucky’s eyes fly to Tony’s. “No!”

“Okay. Can I just...?” Then Tony’s hand is on Bucky’s face, calloused palm gentle against Bucky’s cheek as Tony moves closer.

“This okay?” Tony asks, and Bucky nods, his breath coming short.

“Alright.” Tony’s breath ghosts against Bucky’s mouth and then Tony’s lips are on his, pressing gently, but firmly. Goosebumps erupt over Bucky’s skin, and he sucks in a sharp breath. The loose hair that has escaped his tie tickles his face. Tony’s mouth is warm and dry, a little chapped, catching on Bucky’s lips a little. The prickle of his goatee makes Bucky’s stomach _twist_ , and all Bucky can breathe is Tony, Tony, Tony.

Too soon, Tony’s mouth parts slightly as he goes to pull away, and Bucky feels a touch of wet and he can’t help himself. He chases after Tony and nudges _up_ so that his lips catch on Tony’s and he can taste more of the tantalising wet. Tony freezes, and Bucky feels the muttered ‘ _Fuck_ ’, the slight bite of teeth on his lower lip as Tony says the ‘f’, the scrape of his lips as Tony mouths the word, and then Tony is kissing him fully, desperately, pushing himself close, clambering into Bucky’s lap. Bucky balances on the stool, leaning back against the workbench, the edge digging painfully into him, but with his lapful of Tony he honestly couldn’t give a shit. He fumbles his arms around the man as Tony licks into his mouth with breathy hums and grunts, his metal hand cupping the curve of Tony’s arse, the other clamping around Tony’s waist. His fingers dig into Tony’s backside as Bucky tries to kiss back just as hard, and Tony’s hips jerk and he grunts.

Tony pulls back for a moment, his lips shiny and swollen. “Is this okay?” He asks, a little breathless, and Bucky feels his dick twitch. “Too fast?”

“‘S fine,” Bucky rasps, his voice has all but gone thanks to this _wonder_ sitting on him, and Bucky doesn’t think he’s been kissed his thoroughly, _ever_. He reaches up, his hands shifting to curve over Tony’s thighs as he all but _begs_ Tony to continue kissing him. Tony must take pity because then his mouth is back on Bucky’s, his tongue tracing lazily through Bucky’s mouth like he owns it, (and he does, Bucky wants to tell him. You do.), and the scrape of his goatee burns and fuck if Bucky doesn’t want more. He gasps aloud into Tony’s mouth, makes this pathetic mewling sound when Tony shifts on his dick just right. Tony must notice that because he moves again, small circular motions with his hips that have Bucky groaning, trying to focus on the kiss. Tony grinds down jerkily and Bucky cries out, hips stuttering, burying his head against Tony’s shoulder.

“Like that?” Tony asks breathlessly into ear, the fondness in his tone making Bucky grip him tight.

“Yeah,” Bucky pants against the bare skin, tongue flicking out to taste the defined muscles. He sucks lightly at the golden flesh, thrilling when Tony moans. “Yes.” He bites down hard enough to leave a mark, and Tony shouts.

Bucky slides his hands under the back of Tony’s tank top and pulls him close, revelling in the press of their bodies. It’s been so long since he’d had this sort of contact. He worries at the skin along Tony’s collarbone as he trails his hands up the ridges of Tony’s spine. One hand circles around to gently tease Tony’s nipple and it’s only when Tony makes a strangled sound that he realises he’s used his metal hand. Bucky freezes.

“Don’t stop,” Tony gasps. So Bucky does it again, carefully brushing his thumb over the nipple, pinching it gently. Tony hisses and his fingers dig into Bucky’s shoulders, and Bucky hopes he’ll see crescents when he looks in the mirror later. One of Tony’s hand sneaks up Bucky’s neck into his messy hair, and tugs. Bucky’s eyes slip shut as he groans, low and filthy.

 _“Fuck_.”

Bucky has to force his eyes open again to see Tony staring down at him, pupils blown wide, hunger in every line on his face. The sight is enough to make Bucky moan. He tips his head back into Tony’s hand, and Tony tightens his fist in Bucky’s hair.

“That’s it,” Tony’s saying, words spilling out, enveloping Bucky in warmth. “God, you look so good like this. Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

Bucky bites his lip. His dick aches, and he knows there’s a wet spot on the front of his jeans. His back is killing him, but he doesn’t care. He wants...he wants....

“Come on, Polar Bear. What do you want?”

“You,” Bucky moans out. Tony leans down and licks a long stripe up Bucky’s arched neck, and Bucky whimpers.

“You’ve got me, Polar Bear,” Tony tells him. “What do you want me to do?”

This. Just this. The sensations running through Bucky at the moment make him feel like he’s floating. He never wants it to end.

“Wanna come?”

Bucky shakes his head, revelling in the way his hair strains against Tony’s grip.

“Wanna feel good,” he mumbles, words sounding distant. “Want you to feel good.”

“You feeling good, Polar Bear?” There’s a waver to Tony’s words that Bucky can’t untangle right now.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

“Tell you what,” Tony husks. “How about you let me touch you?”

Bucky nods as best he can, not quite suppressing a small whine.

“Great. I’m just gonna....”

Tony’s free hand strokes down Bucky’s chest, splaying itself over a pec and rubbing over the nipple through the cotton of Bucky’s shirt and Bucky groans.

“I love these muscles,” Tony’s saying, tweaking the hardened nub. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been distracted because of the way you’ve stretched in one of these goddamned shirts? How many times I’ve wanted to rip them right off you and lick you all over?” Bucky’s dick jumps at the image. “Love watching you work out. Love watching you, period.”

Tony gives the nipple a sharp twist then that has Bucky arching with a cry. Then Tony’s mouthing at the abused flesh through his shirt as his hand moves further down to cup at Bucky’s bulge.

“Damn, you’re a big boy,” he mutters. His fingers slip beneath the waist of Bucky’s jeans and then a calloused hand is grasping him and suddenly Bucky’s coming, vision going blank, ears ringing. When he comes to, Tony’s released his hair and is straightening his clothes.

“Sorry,” Bucky says, mortified. Tony flashes him a smile.

“It’s fine, buttercup. To be honest, I’m flattered.” He winks, and Bucky has to grin.

“Can I....” he begins hesitantly, hand drifting down to where Tony’s still hard. Tony sucks in a breath.

“You sure?” He asks. “You don’t have to.”

“I wanna.”

“Then sure.”

Bucky traces a finger over the bulge in Tony’s sweats, and then pulls down the waistband. Tony’s dick springs free, and Bucky’s gratified to see it hard and straining.

He spits onto his hand, because he hasn’t forgotten everything, and begins a slow up and down along its length. Tony breathes out above him, hands twitching as he grips Bucky’s shoulders.

“You were so beautiful,” he begins, and Bucky looks up, tossing the loose hair out of his face so he can meet Tony’s eyes. “Watching you like that. God, you’re gorgeous, do you even know that? I love watching you come. Love watching you get swept away.”

He cuts off as Bucky swirls his thumb over the head.

“‘S this okay?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yes,” Tony bites out. “It’s fine. Great actually. Feels —” He groans, “—amazing.”

Bucky has to look down to hide his grin. He watches himself touching Tony and wonders how it would feel to have Tony’s dick in his mouth. He has to swallow the sudden rush of saliva at the thought.

“Your hand feels amazing,” Tony’s babbling now. “And your shoulders. They should be illegal. And your eyes, show me your eyes.”

Bucky obediently follows the loose tugging at his hair and lets Tony stare dazedly at him.

“They should be illegal too,” Tony mumbles. “Someone should patent your eyes.”

Bucky huffs in amusement. “What?”

“And your mouth. I’ve been wondering what it was like to kiss you for ages.” Tony pushes against Bucky’s lips with his thumb, eyes dark and wanting, a red flush high on his cheekbones. Bucky opens his mouth and catches the thumb, drawing it in. Tony’s hips jerk. So Bucky tells him.

“I want to suck you.”

Tony closes his eyes with a shaky groan.

“I won’t last,” he manages. “Next time.”

 _Next time._ There’s going to be a next time.

“Okay,” Bucky whispers.

There’s silence aside from the wet sounds of Bucky stroking Tony’s dick and Bucky closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy it. Somehow it feels just as good as when Tony was touching him.

“Give me your arm,” Tony grits out. Bucky hesitates. “The metal one.”

Bucky holds his metal hand up to Tony who moans and links their fingers together. He’s moving earnestly now, hips pumping in Bucky’s grasp. Bucky watches the curve of his dick slide in and out of his loose hold, occasionally running his thumb over the weeping head. Tony’s hand moves, gliding over Bucky’s metal arm. He tugs until he can pull one cold finger into his mouth and sucks hard, saliva glistening on the already gleaming metal. Bucky’s heart almost stops, and his dick twitches in a valiant attempt to get hard again.

“Tony,” he says weakly. Tony groans, still moving, tongue laving at the metal fingers. He bares his teeth and bites down with a _clink_ , and then he’s coming with a drawn out moan, painting white stripes over Bucky’s shirt. Bucky’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“So,” Tony says once he’s gotten his breath back. “That was fun.”

Bucky chuckles.

“Ah, shit, your top,” Tony says, eyes lighting on the mess. “Hang on, I’ll get you a cloth — DUM-E!”

“It’s fine.” Bucky stops him. “I’ll just sneak back to my room and change.” He grins. “I’m good at sneaking.”

Tony laughs and Bucky feels alive.

  
*****

His new arm doesn’t hurt and Bucky wants to _fly_. He settles for testing it with Tony and then kissing the man senseless instead.

*****


End file.
